The Blood Cross Army and Derek’s Frustration

• “The Blood Cross Army? What’s that, some cheap knockoff of the Blood Cult?”
• “Right? You think so too!”

 

State Window, seemingly the only one in the world who shared Ihan’s sense of humor and sarcasm, offered its agreement. Ihan was relieved to know he wasn’t the only one who found the name ridiculous.

However, Derek—alias Taechang—was utterly bewildered.

• “A faction from the temple? Parasites who survived despite being wiped out by the late king? …What is all this nonsense?”

 

Derek mumbled to himself, struggling to comprehend this sudden revelation about a faction he’d never heard of.

• “I-I mean, I was part of the original dev team, but I wasn’t high-ranking. So I don’t know all the game’s content. The Blood Cross Army could be a scrapped idea the planning team added later, or it might be part of the original story that I’m unaware of.”
• “The game versus the source material, huh….”
• “If you want, I can try to find out.”
• “…No, forget it. Sure, knowing more could be useful, but knowing too much just complicates things. Like with you.”
• “C-can’t deny that….”

 

Indeed, Derek’s mind was always cluttered—with too much information.

Many might envy Derek’s encyclopedic knowledge, thinking they could accomplish anything with such resources. But Derek saw it differently.

• “It’s awful, really….”

 

Knowledge, as vast as his, was a double-edged sword. Without sufficient power or authority to act on it, that knowledge became a burden. Not just any power—he needed…

• “Without the authority of a war god or the strength of an aura master, I can’t use my knowledge freely.”

 

Derek had neither. Even when he’d foreseen the monster attack the previous day, he couldn’t do anything about it. This constant helplessness left him perpetually stressed, with many sleepless nights.

Lately, he’d been able to rest better thanks to reliable allies. Without them…

• “Sigh, the instructor’s right. Ignorance is bliss. Maybe I should just stick to being a walking encyclopedia.”
• “Don’t give up, kid. Put in the effort to become an aura master or a warlord.”
• “…Neither is easy or desirable.”

 

Aura mastery wasn’t something achieved through skills or achievement points. Becoming a warlord required political acumen and charisma—qualities Derek neither possessed nor wanted to cultivate.

• “You’d be unstoppable if you just had some confidence.”
• “…You overestimate me, Instructor. Anyway, the real problem here is the emergence of an unknown faction.”
• “You really know nothing about them? Even though you predicted the monster attack?”
• “I know there are villains, but none with a silly name like ‘Blood Cross Army.’”
• “……”
• “Either there’s some glitch or some deviation from the norm. To figure it out, I think it’d be best if I stuck close to you, Instructor.”
• “Oh? Feeling proactive, are we?”
• “…Not really. I’m just following your example.”
• “My example?”
• “You said it yourself—whatever you do, do it with responsibility. I’m trying that out.”

 

For Derek, this was a way of taking responsibility for his knowledge as a developer.

A Rare Respite

“Wow, this water’s so clean—it’s been ages since I’ve seen water this pure.”
“This bread is soft, and the milk tastes freshly drawn. How on earth did they get these to such a remote place?”
“Mmm!”
“Sir Arend, please slow down, or you’ll choke.”
“Cough! W-water…!”
“…Didn’t even last a second after I said it.”

Thanks to Derek, the knights enjoyed a rare, warm meal—fresh bread, clean water, and milk as if straight from the source. Such luxury was only possible because of Derek’s [Inventory], a player-exclusive skill bordering on miraculous.

“Who would’ve thought you’d know such a capable ally, Ihan?”
“Your connections are impressive, Senior.”
“This time, I have to agree.”
“You?”
“…I agree.”
“…Sure, like I expected anything else from you.”
“……”

As usual, Ihan berated the ever-useless Eighth Prince, then turned his attention back to Derek.

“So, did you find anything?”

• [Not yet. I didn’t realize the tunnels were this expansive. I knew it was the kingdom’s largest fertilizer facility, but this is… five times the size of an amusement park.]
• “…That big?”

 

Ihan had known it was large, but not to this extent. It made sense, though—supplying fertilizer to the entire southern continent required such an enormous operation.

“Investigating won’t be easy.”

• [It’ll take at least five days to cover everything.]

 

“Hmm.”

That was likely the minimum. A thorough investigation could take two weeks or more, especially when searching for a hidden organization.

‘Is this even the right place?’

Doubt crept into Ihan’s mind. Isis had chosen this location out of three potential sites, relying on her instincts. Could her intuition have been wrong?

‘…No, this is it!’

Ihan decided to trust Isis. Her intuition often bordered on the supernatural, something almost mystical. He had to believe this was the right place—doubting her wouldn’t help.

“Looks like you’ll have to keep working hard. I’ll do what I can, but my status as a convict limits me.”

• [Don’t worry. I’ll do my best to cover the rest. I’ll check back in the evening.]

 

“Alright, see you then.”

With that, Derek disappeared—his stealth skill leaving no trace behind.

‘That skill is ridiculous,’ Ihan thought. The combination of invisibility, stealth, and speed made Derek a human-shaped stealth bomber.

An Unexpected Encounter

As Ihan mulled over Derek’s skills, someone approached.

“Hey, you there. You’re from Britannia, right?”

“?”

“Even though this is our first meeting, I can tell from your trained physique—you’re quite skilled. It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Mustang de Bargada.”

The stranger introduced himself as if his name alone should inspire awe.

The knights, however, responded with nothing but blank stares.

“??”

Their expressions seemed to say, ‘Who the hell is this idiot?’

 

"Do You Not Know My Name?"

Mustang’s eyes darted nervously as he asked, “…You don’t know my name?”

At that moment, Jake—the most well-read knight in the group—chimed in hesitantly:
“…Mustang? Are you perhaps the general from Britannia who led the 3rd Corps?”

Mustang’s expression brightened momentarily at the recognition, but Jake continued:
“The one infamous for his idiotic command decisions, who indirectly aided Pendragon’s victory and earned the title of hidden supporter or even spy for Pendragon…?”

“…Oh….”

“And the lunatic who supposedly threw a party in the middle of a battlefield….”

“S-Stop! Enough!” Mustang’s face fell further with each revelation.

His background, it seemed, was better left unknown.

The Glaring Stares of Disapproval

As Jake’s words lingered in the air, the other knights exchanged icy glances:

‘No wonder Britannia fell. With someone like him as a general, it makes sense.’
‘They say incompetent allies are worse than enemies. This proves it.’
‘Unbelievable. A man like that became a general?’
‘Wait… given you’re a commander, doesn’t that make sense?’
‘What are you implying?!’

Mustang stood before them like a testament to utter incompetence, earning nothing but contemptuous glares.

Unfazed—or perhaps oblivious—he puffed out his chest, addressing the group with exaggerated authority:
“Ahem! Regardless, now that you know my name, you must understand that I outrank you. State your names and affiliations properly, and show some respect!”

“……”

The knights were too stunned to respond.

‘Wow… being this incompetent is almost impressive.’

Indeed, if incompetence had a hierarchy, Mustang might well belong to its highest echelons.

The Argument Escalates

“Humph! Demanding respect even in prison—have you no shame?”

Pendragon’s golden boy, Arend, looked at Mustang with unconcealed disgust, his tone brimming with disdain.

“How dare you! Do you know who I am? I’m the proud heir of the Vargas family!”

“And a disgrace to it, no doubt. What kind of Vargas demands recognition here of all places?”

“You…!”

The squabble escalated into a full-blown shouting match. The bickering was petty, a clash of fragile egos.

“Ah, there they go…” Jake muttered, shaking his head. “What’s the point of arguing with a fool?”

But Arend was undeterred, diving headfirst into the pointless argument.

From Words to Blows

“Do you dare point your finger at me?”
“Do you dare raise your voice to me?”

Within moments, the argument devolved into a full-blown scuffle, with both men grabbing each other by the collar.

The nearby prisoners, already exhausted from fighting mini-worms, watched with bemusement.

“What the hell is wrong with them?”
“Plenty of energy, it seems.”

Nobody moved to break up the fight. The prisoners were too drained to care, and the knights weren’t inclined to intervene.

A Voice of Reason

“General Mustang, please, let’s not do this. We’re all from the same homeland, aren’t we? We should be uniting, not fighting.”

A man with a gentle demeanor stepped between the two, his calm presence diffusing the tension.

“But he started it—”
“Come now, let’s just calm down,” the man interrupted, his voice steady.

Mustang reluctantly stepped back, grumbling under his breath.

The man turned to the knights, offering a polite bow.
“My apologies for the disturbance. General Mustang didn’t mean any harm; he was simply excited to meet fellow knights from Britannia. Please don’t take it personally.”

“……”

“And forgive my late introduction. I’m Roy Vant. Please, just call me Roy.”

Roy extended a hand, his pleasant demeanor striking a stark contrast to Mustang’s bombastic attitude. He exuded the air of a capable diplomat, seemingly harmless.

Suspicion Arises

“Roy Vant,” Ihan repeated, narrowing his eyes. “And what’s your relationship with him?”

Roy hesitated for a moment before answering.
“General Mustang saved my life. I was nearly killed by the worms, but he rescued me. I owe him my life.”

“Ha! Yes, yes, that’s exactly how it happened!” Mustang added, slapping Roy’s shoulder with exaggerated enthusiasm.

Roy maintained his polite smile, though his composure wavered slightly under Mustang’s obnoxious gestures.

“That’s strange,” Ihan remarked, his tone dripping with suspicion. “You don’t strike me as someone who’d need saving.”

“…What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Ihan said bluntly, “you seem suspicious as hell.”

“!!?”

A Sudden Attack

Without warning, Ihan’s fist shot toward Roy with deadly precision.

Smack!

Roy raised an arm to block, his movements unnaturally swift. The impact echoed through the cavern, and Roy’s face twisted in shock.

“Hah… this is insane…” Roy muttered.

Ihan grinned. “Not bad. Blocking that means you’ve got skills. Aura techniques, maybe?”

Roy’s silence and the faint murderous glint in his eyes confirmed Ihan’s suspicions.

A Brutal Fight

The clash was fierce, their strikes reverberating like thunder. Roy’s kicks weaved through the air with serpentine grace, resembling a Brazilian kick on steroids. His movements were fluid and unpredictable, a deadly dance honed through countless battles.

But Ihan blocked every strike with ease, his calm demeanor unshaken.

“That all you’ve got?” Ihan taunted.

Roy’s expression faltered. His techniques—polished and lethal—were being dismantled as if they were child’s play.

An Unstoppable Force

Ihan didn’t waste time. Grabbing Roy by the ankle mid-kick, he swung him like a ragdoll, slamming him into the ground.

Crash!

“Argh!” Roy cried out, writhing in pain.

“Only two slams in, and you’re already whining?” Ihan remarked, unimpressed.

Roy thrashed in a desperate counterattack, but Ihan caught his leg again, lifting him effortlessly.

With a final, devastating motion, Ihan executed a flawless German Suplex.

Crack!

The sickening sound of Roy’s skull meeting the ground filled the cavern, silencing everyone.

A Moment of Regret

“…Ah, damn,” Ihan muttered, suddenly realizing the severity of his actions. “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone that far.”

But as he looked down at Roy’s limp body, Ihan’s regret was tinged with satisfaction.

“Too late now.”